


Homecoming

by GalacticDavey



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, I'm sorry I don't know how to tag, THAT'S RIGHT PUT YOUR POM POMS DOWN, gonna get a touchdown gONNA TAKE YOU OUT, gonna lead the pack, i'm v into the "Lotor's half Altean" theory, like SUPER BRIEF so i won't tag ;;, lotor's ready to attack, mild violence, the generals are in there briefly too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 14:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticDavey/pseuds/GalacticDavey
Summary: Lotor heard that you were talking shit and you didn't think that he would hear it.I have a lot of feelings about Lotor, and the potential thoughts/feelings our favorite exiled brat may have had during his confrontation with Throk.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> So I had feelings and wrote this pretty much right after season 3 dropped and then fORGOT ABOUT IT because I'm the worst so HEY here it is, long after the hype has died.
> 
> Also, fun fact: this was originally called "Half Blood Prince" but I figured it was to reminiscent of a certain book series about a school for witchcraft and wizardry so I figured I'd better go with somthing else.

_He has no honor_.

Lotor could have laughed at the irony, if he weren’t so livid. Also, if he weren’t in the middle of a fight, but that could be ended easily enough. There was another challenger he was much more eager to take on. He quickly dispatched the beast he’d been pitted against, and as he stood over it, he removed his helmet. There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd as he made his identity known.

_Exiled brat._

He turned toward the audience, searching the faces as he approached. “Throk,” he called. “You wish to challenge me? Then come down and claim your crown.”

_No honor._

_Half-breeds._

“True Galra,” and he was careful to keep the snarl out of his voice, “do not take the throne by stirring up insurrection in darkened chambers.” The shocked look on Throk’s face was too perfect for him to hold back his smile. “They rise through honorable rite of combat. Defeat me here, and the throne is yours.”

Throk glanced between Lotor’s generals before a smug expression settled on his face. “I accept your offer.”

Just as he had known he would--there really was no other option. Not when his _honor_ was called into question so publicly. The words still bit harshly, and fury still bubbled in his veins, but he reigned it in. There was only one good way to put any doubts of his right to the throne to rest, and letting his anger get the best of him would only lead to failure.

The satisfaction of putting Throk in his place was not something he wanted to risk losing.

The loyalty of his audience was a close second, but he would admit that maybe his priorities were a little out of order at that moment.

“Now all will see who is the rightful leader.” Throk’s grin was dagger-sharp, and Lotor had to smother thoughts of making him spit out those teeth onto the arena floor--there were better ways. There was always a better way. Vengeance didn’t always have to be violence. But then again, violence wasn’t limited to the physical.

_Clearly he’s a dangerous lunatic._

“I have fought thousands of battles and left many enemies much more fearsome than you wasting on the battlefields.”

Lotor bit his tongue. Not the time for snarky replies--he would let his victory speak for him. He’d show him _dangerous_.

He wasn’t bad. Not anywhere near good enough to win, but not bad. Lotor hadn’t expected anything else, really. He was all offense, rushing forward without any patience or finesse.

Patience was something Lotor had in spades. He blocked one attack after the next, biding his time and waiting for Throk to tire himself out.

“You have flawless technique, I’ll grant you that,” he snarked during a break in the onslaught. “Still, at some point you must realize that your repetitive attacks are getting you nowhere.” Throk glared, catching his breath. Lotor hadn’t even broken a sweat. Furious at his wounded pride, Throk shouted and ran forward.

His attacks didn’t lack strength, but he got sloppier with each desperate swing of his sword, and he left himself open. Lotor seized the opportunity; taking him out quickly would wound Throk’s pride more than continuing to toy with him. While Throk’s sword was caught against his own, Lotor delivered a quick punch to his side with his free hand. Stunned, Throk stepped back just enough that Lotor’s sword was free for his own attack--but rather than landing a blow on Throk, he split his challenger’s blade in two, disarming him. Throk stumbled backward and fell into the dirt, and before he could get up, Lotor leveled his sword with the man’s throat.

“Your tactics are stale,” he muttered lowly. “And in the end, your own aggression is your undoing.” Throk glared up at him for a beat, but then closed his eyes, resigning himself to what was to come.

And Lotor was tempted. It would be so, so easy to spill Throk’s blood now, make an example of him. No one would question it. The crowd was shouting his name, cheering for it. It was the expected (and encouraged) outcome, and if his hand shook where he gripped his blade, no one would have noticed.

It was almost scary, how easy it would be to kill him.

_Half-breeds_.

But he would not be like his father.

He lowered his sword.

There was a better way.

Throk opened his eyes, stared up at Lotor, confused. Lotor eyed him for a moment longer before he addressed the audience.

“My father built our Empire on the bones of his enemies. But the time has come to change the old ways, and inspire not fear from those we rule, but loyalty. We must not waste our energy fighting to keep our subjects down, but rather multiply it, by allowing those worthy to rise and join our ranks.” Surely, he had more than proven his methods against Throk. Speaking of… He turned back to Throk with a smile, and offered his hand. “The Universe can no longer doubt our strength. Each ally gained only makes us stronger, while those who continue to stand against us will be crushed.”

His father had done more than well for himself over ten thousand years, but his one failing was his brutal honesty. The rise of his empire was solely for his own glory, his own power. All Lotor had to do was play to the people. Not my greatness, but _ours_ . _Our_ strength. _Our_ empire. Not mine. Not me. _Us_.

A simple change of phrasing, and they were eating out of his hands.

Throk accepted his offered hand, and stood.

“Lotor,” Thace spoke, head bowed, “we pledge our loyalty to you. Vrepit sa.”

And if seeing Throk salute him wasn’t satisfying enough, turning to see the crowds following his lead certainly was. They cheered his name, and something swelled in him that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

 

“That went well,” Ezor chirped as he stepped onto the ship, and Lotor smiled.

“The masses are easily manipulated,” he dismissed, but he couldn’t shake that feeling, couldn’t quite wipe the smile from his face. So much for _no honor_ and _exiled_. He paused. That reminded him that there was still the matter of Throk to attend to. He wouldn’t kill him, but there were things worse than death, and he’d be damned if he’d let that wretch get off easy after trying to deny him his birthright.

After what he’d _said_.

_Half-breeds_ . The pride over his victory meshed with a dark, sick feeling. Throk hadn’t even been talking about him, but the words still dug deep, burrowed through his very bones. He wouldn’t tolerate such an insult, not against himself, not against his generals. “Pure Galra” or not, their strength and loyalty had proven them more than worthy of their rank. They had more bravery and _honor_ than Throk had ever possessed in his entire miserable life. _So much for being a “true Galra_ . _”_

“Have Throk transferred out to the Ulippa System immediately.”

Death was too boring a punishment. Too easy. There were more gratifying ways to make an example of someone than simply spilling blood. There were far more painful ways to _crush those who stood against them_.

“Let him rot with the ice worms.”

**Author's Note:**

> Also: https://lotors-saltwife.tumblr.com/post/163842143743/sunlit-capybara-lotors-saltwife-has-anyone
> 
> This is all I thought about while writing this.


End file.
